obvious reason for Guevara to even know the kidnapper unless they were affiliated somehow. Guevara’s involved in this. On some level.”
“I got Guevara’s LUDs and cell logs earlier this afternoon,” Gordon said, moving to a stack of papers at the far end of the conference table. “Haven’t had a chance to go through them yet.” He licked his index finger and thumbed through the pile. He stopped, glanced around the room, then snuck a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket. “Here.” He yanked a sheaf of pages free and tossed the first aside.
“Just so you all know,” Vail said. “I’m on a flight out of here in a few hours. I leave for SFO at 4:00 AM.”
Brix ground his molars. As he looked at Vail, his stress and frustration were evident for all to see.
“My boss is gonna have agents from the San Francisco field office pick up the investigation.”
Dixon shook her head in disapproval.
“Any chance I can get him to reconsider?” Brix asked.
“Beyond our control,” Vail said. “I tried. But the unit’s shorthanded and they caught a big case.”
“Got something,” Gordon said, his stubby finger poking at a spot on the phone logs. “Calls from Guevara to Ray. Ray’s cell. Starting two days ago with a text message, followed by a three-minute call.”
Vail gathered herself and rose slowly from her seat. She moved beside Gordon and looked over his shoulder. “That was after we’d met with Guevara, which makes sense. Guevara was pissed.”
“At some point,” Mann said, “Ray knew Mayfield was the kidnapper.”
“He could’ve suspected it all along,” Vail said, “but didn’t get positive confirmation until yesterday. Maybe it was something in the interview. ’Cause that’s when he pulled his gun and shot Mayfield.”
Dixon shook her head. “He purposely left his backup piece in its holster when we all stowed our side arms in the lockers. So he either knew or strongly suspected.”
“Or he needed us to find Mayfield so he could kill him. Payback,” Vail said.
Dixon stood and began to pace. “Not payback. Security. He said he tried finding the kidnapper, but he couldn’t. And when he did try, Mayfield was all over him, with more threats. He’d already proved he could operate at will, so Ray couldn’t chance it. What if he had an accomplice? Friends on the outside who’d take care of business for him? When Ray put two and two together, and realized that his kidnapper was our serial killer, he knew the opportunity would come for him to get the guy out of his life—and keep his family safe—when we caught him.”
“If we caught him,” Gordon said.
“Well, we did catch him. And soon as we did, Ray shot him.”
“We’re missing an important point,” Vail said. “We got a vital piece of information from Ray’s video.”
Brix kicked at the chair in front of him. “Really? Might as well share it with us, because I didn’t fucking see anything that’ll help us.”
“Mayfield’s in a coma and who knows when he’ll come to or what he’ll tell us. Ray’s dead. Cannon’s in the wind. But we’ve got someone who’s tied into this somehow right in our backyard.”
“Guevara,” Dixon said.
Mann nodded slowly. “Guevara.”
Vail glanced at the clock again.
“So . . . what?” Brix asked. “Bring him in, sweat him?”
Dixon began pacing in front of the windowed wall. “A guy like that, we bring him in, I think he clams up at best and lawyers up at worst.”
“Agreed.” Vail thought a moment. “We get a warrant, we go to his place and start going through his rigs.”
“His rigs,” Gordon said. “Those mobile bottling trailers? What do you expect to find in there?”
“Nothing,” Vail said. “But once we start putting our hands on his precision machinery, talk about tearing it apart to look for evidence, he’ll flip out. It’s his profit center. He may start talking just to make us stop.”
Dixon flipped open her phone. “I’ll start the wheels moving for getting a warrant.”
“How long do you think?” Vail asked.
“I’ll need someone to draw up the probable cause statement.”
“Got it,” Mann said. “Plenty of experience with that.” He pulled a chair in front of the laptop.
“Redd,” she said to Brix. “Get NSIB over to Ray’s house. If Merilynn won’t cooperate, get a warrant. Impound his computers, every goddamn thing you can find. Ray made a video; maybe he kept an insurance policy.”
“Insurance policy. Like copies of records, phone calls, video, stuff like that? Wouldn’t he have mentioned it in the DVD if he had?”
“Not necessarily. Looked to me like Merilynn interrupted him and he didn’t finish it.” She pointed at the laptop. “Wait a sec. Look at the DVD Ray made. The file, when was it created?”
Mann opened Windows Explorer, clicked, and scrolled. “The DVD was burned two months ago. As to when it was filmed . . . I don’t know.”
“Close enough,” Dixon said. “My guess is he filmed it, then burned it to disc. No reason I can see to film it and leave it in the drawer. A lot of shit could’ve gone down in the past two months. But maybe things didn’t heat up till we found Victoria Cameron in that cave. Mayfield’s first vic.” She turned to Vail. “Is it possible Ray knew Mayfield was the killer from day one?”
Vail played back the events of the past week in her mind. “I doubt it. But now that we know there was something going on between Ray and Guevara beginning at least two months ago, I don’t think we can rule it out, Roxx.”
“Goddamn him.” Dixon looked at the screen, where the image of Ray Lugo had stared back at them moments ago. “Karen, with me. Let’s go pay a visit to Guevara. You tried rattling his cage before. Maybe we need to try a different approach.”
25
The sun’s March burn melted behind the mountains like wax over a bottle of Madeira: beginning with a smoldering deformation, then accelerating as the heat built, spreading, losing definition, and enveloping all.
They arrived at Superior Mobile Bottling without a warrant in hand, and little time to kill. But kill it they must . . . because going in strong against a Cesar Guevara without the ammunition to back it up had already failed. And at present, their best ammunition was not filled with gunpowder but with written words.
Dixon pulled the Ford Crown Victoria against the curb, down the street from Superior’s facility in American Canyon, and shoved the gearshift into park.
“How long?”
Dixon glanced at the dashboard clock. “No way of knowing.”
“Your judges?”
“Not always sympathetic.”
“At least you got a look around last time we were here.”
“I didn’t have much time,” Dixon said. “It was a quick once-over. We really need to tear the place apart.”
Vail turned and looked at the fading light in the distance. The sky behind her was a purplish black, like a fading bruise on an otherwise pleasing landscape. Ahead, there was still a yellow hue, dissolving to dusky charcoal as the minutes ticked by.
“You okay?”
Dixon’s question pulled Vail from her reverie. “I’m not going to see the sun in Napa again for . . . who knows how long.”
“Did you ever see the sun in Napa?”
Vail chuckled.
Dixon’s phone vibrated. She tapped the Bluetooth receiver. “Dixon.”
“Roxx.” It was Brix’s voice. “You want the good news or the bad news first?”
“I’ll take the good.”
“Just spoke with Timmons from NSIB. He’s taken over as point for us so we have a consistent contact, since it seems we’re going to need them long-term. Or longer-term than we originally thought.”
